Romulus stopped as he reached the edge of the moat, then gave a terse nod. Hundreds of his men, awaiting his command, burst into the city with a great shout and a sound of horns, and soon the city was filled with his men. He watched with pride as the banner of the Empire was hoisted above its gates.
Savaria, he knew, was one of the great cities of the Ring. And now, every person within, in a matter of minutes, every knight and soldier and commoner and lord, lay dead. And he had not lost a single soldier. It had been the same for his entire march from the Canyon, Romulus slowly and meticulously wiping out every town and village that he encountered, wanting his destruction of the Ring to be absolute.
Of course, King’s Court was still free, but he wanted to take his time before arriving there. He wanted everything destroyed first, not a blade of grass left, as vengeance for his prior defeat. He would reach Gwendolyn in good time, and her King’s Court. He would unleash his dragons, and he would make her pay. But not before he had first destroyed every town in her precious Ring.
Romulus threw back his head and roared with triumph. For however long the spell lasted, he was invincible. And as long as he lived, nothing, and no one, in the world would stop him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gwendolyn rode on the back of Ralibar, hanging on for dear life, wondering how she got here. Ralibar flew erratically, unlike he ever had before, weaving up and down, racing through the clouds, as if wanting her off.
“Ralibar, please, slow!” she cried out.
But Ralibar would not listen. He was like a different beast, a dragon she did not know. He roared—a terrifying noise—and dove straight down through the clouds—right, Gwen saw, for King’s Court.
“I can’t hang on!” Gwen yelled, slipping.
But Ralibar flew faster, steeper, and a moment later, Gwen shrieked as she lost her grip.
Gwen went tumbling through the air, head over heels, flying straight down toward King’s Court. And Ralibar, instead of swooping down to catch her, flew off, away from her.
Gwendolyn braced herself, shrieking, as the ground rushed up for her.
She landed hard on a floor of mud, feeling the pain in every part of her body. Yet also alive.
Gwen got up slowly, wondering how she could have survived. She looked all around and barely recognized King’s Court. It was all in ruins, and she lay in the center of it, the only person left alive.
She heard a baby’s cry, and she spun, immediately recognizing her son’s wailing. She saw, on the far side of the square, Guwayne. He lay there all alone, crying up to the heavens.
Heart breaking, Gwen tried to run for him, but as she did, she found herself stumbling in the mud.
“Guwayne!” she cried.
Gwen ran, stumbling, until finally she reached him. She scooped him up and held him tight, crying, rocking him. She could not understand how he had gotten here, all alone.
Gwendolyn looked up and saw standing before her, beneath the great arched gate to the city, her father. King MacGil. He was expressionless, his face hard and cold, and he stared back, grim.
“My daughter,” he boomed, his voice sounding so far away. “Leave this place. Leave it at once.”
Gwen gripped Guwayne, crying and screeching in her arms; she was about to respond, to ask her father what he was doing here, what he was warning against, when suddenly she heard a flapping of wings. She craned her neck and looked up to the sky, and she finally saw a dragon swooping down from the clouds. At first she was elated, expecting it was Ralibar; but then she was horrified to see that it was not him. It was a hideous dragon, yellow in color, one she had never seen before, with long, razor-sharp teeth, a head too big for its body, and wings covered in spikes and thorns.
The dragon arched its neck, shrieking to the skies, then lowered its head and breathed fire, right for her. A wall of flame raced through the air, and Gwen screamed and clutched her baby to her chest to protect him from the heat. She flinched and ducked, yet try as she did to get away, she felt the flames slowly burning her alive.
Gwen woke screaming. She sat up in bed, breathing hard, looking everywhere, trying to brush off the flames. She jumped out of bed, and it took her a moment to realize it was just a nightmare.
Gwen stood in her castle chamber, sweating, breathing hard. Slowly, she caught her breath and looked out and saw the first of the rising suns through her window, the room spreading with violet. She looked over and saw Guwayne sleeping soundly in his crib beside her bed. She breathed deep, realizing all was well in the world.
Gwen crossed the room, splashed water on her face, then gravitated toward the arched open-air window. She looked out, bracing herself for the worst after that dream.
But all was peaceful in her kingdom. Her entire court was asleep and no one stirred. From all appearances, there was no reason to fear.
Yet as Gwen stood there, her dream hung over her like a blanket. She sensed that the visions she saw were real; she sensed it was all a warning, that she had to get out of this place—and get her people out of this place. They had to evacuate. She could not wait another moment.
Gwendolyn quickly dressed, crossed her chamber, and threw open the door.
Her guards turned and stared at her, stiffening at attention.
“My lady,” one said.
She looked back at him with the gravity of a Queen. She was resolved—whatever the fallout would be.
“Sound the evacuation horns,” she commanded. “Now.”
There was no mistaking the authority in her voice, and her attendants looked at her, eyes widening in surprise. But they executed her command, and immediately running off and hurrying to do her will.
Gwen turned, scooped up Guwayne, and prepared to gather her most precious things. She took one long last look at this castle chamber, then went to the window and looked out at King’s Court for the last time. She knew she would never see it again.
* * *
Gwendolyn stood in the center of the courtyard of King’s Court in the early morning sun, surrounded by thousands of her people, an agitated and angry mob. Beside her stood Steffen and Aberthol and all her counselors, along with her brothers, Godfrey and Kendrick. They stood by her side, in support of the Queen, as the mob confronted her angrily. Around the periphery of King’s Court stood hundreds of her soldiers, watching warily, holding their weapons, prepared, on her nod, to take action on those people who refused to evacuate.
After the horns had sounded, her people had all gathered here in the courtyard, soldiers forcing them from their homes; now here they stood, bleary-eyed, an angry mob facing her, demanding answers. She had never seen her people so upset with her, and she did not like the feeling. This was not the experience of being Queen that she had come to know.